Classic Poem

Rain in the night is falling
Softly and gently down,
Pattering on the shingles
Of the farmhouse old and brown.

And tho' I cannot see it,
Nor feel its crystal drops,
Yet I hear its constant music
Upon the old housetop.

Pitter, patter, patter, pit!
How melodious its sound,
As it trickles from the eave-sides
And splashes on the ground.

But a feeling so sad, so dreary,
Which I cannot explain,
Comes o'er me when, at night, I hear
The pattering of the rain.